


That Time Something Nice Happened To Will Graham

by cucumber_of_doom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: EatTheRare, F/M, First Meetings, Short & Sweet, Sick Dogs, they all get better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumber_of_doom/pseuds/cucumber_of_doom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Molly keep running into each other at the vet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time Something Nice Happened To Will Graham

**Author's Note:**

> Something short and sweet for #EatTheRare. Have fun!

The first time he notices her, is in the vet’s parking lot on a snowy morning in January. Will is tired, cranky and trying to wrangle a sick Noodles out of the back of his car, when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. He react before he can think, years of reigning in a pack of dogs and surviving field work kicking in and his fingers close around the Labrador’s collar before it can slip past. The dog almost makes him slip on the icy ground but Will grabs onto the open door and manages to stay upright, if only barely.

“Pepper!”

The woman running across the parking lot is wrapped in a thick jacket, her winter boots soaked from chasing the wayward dog through the slush between the parked cars. Will lets go of the door – now steady on his feet again - picks up the wet leash trailing from the collar and hands it to the woman once she reaches them.

She takes it into her gloved hands, face flushed from running in the cold.

“Thank you so much,” she says with a relieved but exhausted smile, the black Lab whining between them, disappointed at being caught. Will shrugs. 

“Don’t mention it. Your dog is about as enthusiastic about the vet as mine, but they all are. Trust me on that,” he tries, wondering how long it has been that many words in a row.

The woman shakes her head, a few strands of dark blond hair sticking out from beneath her woolen hat. She looks tired, Will notices, but in a healthier way than he encounters in the mirror whenever he bothers to shave.

“The panic comes a bit late, we are actually finished. Running after she got her shots is not all that effective,” she explains, while Pepper decides to hide behind her legs. After a moments hesitation she offers him the hand not holding the soggy leash. “I am Molly.”

“Will,” he says, too surprised at the friendliness to even consider declining and shakes the offered hand. It is the first unforced conversation Will’s had since before Muskrat Farm and he has no idea what to do with how normal it feels. ‘Normal’ has grown to be a foreign concept.

“Well, better luck with yours,” Molly says, nodding towards Noodles, the Labradoodle cowering in the backseat of his car. Will suddenly feels self-conscious about the dog vomit on his jeans.

“I’ll manage.” 

“I am sure you will, you seem to know your way around stubborn animals. And yours is smaller, so there is that. But I really have to go. Have a nice day, you certainly saved mine.”

“You too.”

And like that she turns around and is gone. Will watches her walk back to her own car, shakes his head and goes back to the task of dragging Noodles into the clinic. He gets thrown up on twice more that day.

 

*

 

The next time they meet, Buster needs stitches after getting into a fight with a stray cat bigger than himself. Of fucking course.

Will has been sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room for about ten minutes when the door opens, letting in a gush of cold, wet air that makes Buster shiver where he is curled up on Will’s lap. He calms the dog down with a reassuring hand on his back, eyes staring into the middle distance.

“That’s not the same dog from last time, isn’t it?”

Will looks up at the vaguely familiar voice, finding the woman – Molly – from his last visit to the clinic standing in front of him. He is surprised she even remembers him after whatever number of weeks it has been. He certainly does, but his social life outside work is almost inexistent these days.

“It’s not, I own seven,” he answers, unsure what else to add. At least this time his clothes are free of dog vomit. Not that admitting to his pack is usually any better, he thinks.

Molly sits down in the empty chair next to him, shrugging out of her jacket and folding it in her lap. Pepper lays down at her feet after sniffing Buster, the tiny, usually so energetic dog not in the mood to return the interest. Will would be more worried if they weren’t already at the vet. It would be fine.

After setting down her purse and smoothing back an errand strand of hair, Molly turns towards him.

“Seven dogs are pretty impressive. How do you manage to get things done when the one we have is already a handful?”

Pepper fusses and she bends down to scratch her behind the ears until the dog calms down. Will watches her fondly, glad about people who love their pets enough to not leave them at the side of the road. Each new stray he picks up makes him loose a little bit more of his faith in humanity. Not that there is a lot of it left.

“I’d call it sad, rather than impressive, but they are well trained and I had plenty of time getting used to the chaos,” he says.

Molly shakes her head, an amused smile tugging at her lips.

“Living alone with seven cats would be sad, dogs are a different story. It’s nice to be greeted that enthusiastically when you get home.”

“Even if you live alone with them?” Will asks dryly. “And they shed. A lot. Whether it is cat or dog hair you are covered in is only important for allergies.”

“A little bit sad maybe, but at least they force you out of the house more than cats would.”

“To the vet,” Will objects, carefully giving Buster a pat on the uninjured part of his head. It is a small miracle the dog has not managed to get himself killed yet, not with how readily he attacks enemies several times his size. He tries and fails not to remember Randall Tier and what followed.

“If it comforts you: the amount of dog hair on you is completely acceptable.”

The statement is unexpected enough to yank Will out of his head before he spirals down further.

“That has to be the oddest compliment I’ve gotten in a while.”

“The way you sound it has been the only compliment, period.”

“Maybe that too.”

Their chat is cut short when he is called to see the doctor that moment. When he comes back out later, after he is finished, Molly and Pepper are gone.

 

*

 

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Molly says to Will as he leaves the vet’s office, a very sad Winston in tow. She is sitting in her usual spot, but with a different dog in her lap. This one is a pug, tiny body wrapped in an orange and yellow patterned blanket and not at all what he would have thought Molly keeps. Instead of continuing his way to the door, he sits down next to her.

“Tell that to Winston. He insisted. Went through all the trouble of finding something nasty to roll in. Now he needs antibiotics and the cone of shame.”

“But he is okay?”Molly asks, giving Winston a concerned once-over that makes something warm grow in Will’s chest. He nods.

“A bit too enthusiastic about roadkill, but he will be fine once the rash is gone and his fur grows back.”

Molly’s face relaxes and Will does the same. Encouraged by not having scared her off, he goes on.

“I did not take you for a pug person.”

Molly shakes her head with the hint of a smile, warm and happy.

“I am not, but this little lady was sitting at a street corner near my apartment complex and I couldn’t just let her stay in the cold.”  
She lifts the wrapped up dog up against her chest. “I won’t be able to keep her, but the least I can do is get her here and drop her off at the shelter in case she is not chipped. Poor little thing probably slipped her collar and ran off.”

Will’s lips twitch in a tired attempt at a smile. He is not good at those.

“I hope you find her owner. All of my dogs were strays I found along the road and now I’ve got a whole pack to look after. People have called me a dog hoarder.”

Molly sets the pug back onto her lap, where it wiggles around until it finds a comfortable position. She takes a deep breath and Will is half expecting her to tell him to stop bothering her.

“How about we meet for coffee instead some time? I’d hate to rely on our dogs getting into trouble at the same time. It could be months and you look like you could use to see a friendly face every once in a while.”

Will goes still, but recovers quickly.

“Coffee?” he asks and Molly nods.

“Coffee. Like adults who like each other and want to get to know the other past their dog’s misadventures.”

Will rakes a hand through his hair, playing for time. Molly is shockingly normal. Not a colleague, no connection to the FBI and dead bodies. A son and a dog and a normal life that never involved bloodshed or beautifully arranged corpses. It sounds too good to be true and Will knows good things do not happen to him. He does not deserve them.

“For honesty’s sake: I have a nine year old son. Just so you know what you are getting yourself into, in case we can still stand each other once we had time to talk without the rest of the waiting room listening in. And only if you like to, of course. I am sorry if I read something into our conversation that was not there.”

She fumbles with the strap of her purse; uncomfortable with his silence and Will wants to kick himself. Molly has been nothing but nice to him and does not deserve to be hit full force with his social incompetence.

The smile comes easier this time.

“I would like that very much, Molly,” he says and watches the tension in her ebb away. It is only coffee, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see me rambling about writing and a lot of random blogging, visit my [tumblr](http://cucumber-of-doom.tumblr.com/) because that's where the cool kids are.


End file.
